Dying with Dignity
by Starla
Summary: Buffy is breaking down. (B/A, C/A, B/S)


Title: Dying with Dignity 1/1 (B/A, C/A, B/S)  
Author: Starla (throwmywalrus@bored.com or fuzzylittlepackrat@hotmail.com)  
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon, David Greenwalt own all.  
Distribution: Take it, but let me know.  
Rating: PG - swearing, talk of violence in sex.  
Timeline: s6/3 - except I haven't actually seen the new seasons, so this is   
kinda vague. I'm putting St. Cordy to my own uses.  
Author's Notes: If you have a fondness for B/S in the 'I love you' sense,   
you might not want to read this. If you truly can't stomach the concept of   
Cordy/Angel, even from a B/A angle, pass it by.  
Feedback: Ooh, yes please.  
--  
--  
  
I crept softly up the stairs to my lover's bedroom; I wanted to surprise   
him, catch him unawares as Mr. Stealth Man so often did me.  
  
When I reached the landing, I heard muffled murmurs floating through the   
door, which stood slightly ajar, a slice of pale golden light escaping to   
flood the plush burgundy carpet.  
  
*She* was there, and it took me a moment to recover from the paralysis   
before I moved closer to the door, needing to see them more clearly, to   
watch them, to let my heart break within my bones.  
  
Her hair was darker, shorter, hiding her face, but Angel's manner...  
  
It was undeniably Buffy Summers.  
  
She was shirtless, and for a moment bile rose in my throat before I saw   
them... the bruises, purpling and vivid against the paleness of her skin,   
the cuts, and scrapes, and bite marks, as if she'd been beaten, torn down   
and crushed whimpering beneath the feet of her foe. The bruises that Angel   
traced gently with his hands, his long fingers sliding gently along her   
spine.  
  
Her legs were curled against her chest, her face resting upon her knees; her   
arms shaking a little as she bound them around herself.  
  
"I didn't mean for it to get this far," she said dully to Angel, who I saw   
had tears glistening in his eyes as he took a washcloth from the bowl   
sitting beside him and wiped away some of her blood. "I didn't mean..."  
  
A muffled sob escaped her lips, and I saw Angel shudder at the sound, moving   
closer and pressing his cheek against her shoulder.  
  
"Buffy..." he whispered, his voice hoarse.  
  
"I came back and I just didn't know - I can't - Oh, god, Angel, I don't want   
this any more," she rambled, more fear in her words than I'd ever imagined   
she could feel.  
  
I didn't know what was wrong, exactly, but I felt like I'd intruded on   
something incredibly intimate, personal. I felt like I was treading on   
sacred ground.  
  
But still, I didn't make myself move, because I remembered, barely, that   
Angel was supposed to be *mine*, now.  
  
At least, that's what I'd thought, what I'd told myself, what I'd wanted so   
desperately.  
  
Was it possible for Angel to ever really belong to anyone but Buffy Summers?  
  
She'd always been the one thing that he wouldn't let anyone touch. If you so   
much as spoke her name in the wrong tone, he'd flinch, bundle himself away   
in broodzone, and you wouldn't be able to reach him for hours, and when you   
did, you could still see the hint of bitterness and resentment he held   
towards you, just for some imagined insult against her.  
  
I'd asked him, once, long before I ever entertained the idea of joining him   
in his bed, what it was about her that made everyone so crazy. He'd stared   
at me, lost for a moment, sad and bewildered and alone, and then just told   
me I wouldn't understand. That I couldn't understand.  
  
I understood this, the people who sat before me, who knew intimacy I'd never   
touch... the intimacy of fear and protection and love and devotion,   
eternity.  
  
Intimacy was more than flesh, more than friendship, and I suddenly knew why   
Angel had never worried about his soul, during the whole span of our sexual   
relationship.  
  
"I wanted to know what it was like to fall," she told him, voice rolling and   
wavering and shuddering throughout the room. "To fall and not have to get   
up. Not be... strong."  
  
"I know," he told her, and pressed his lips to one of the cuts on her back.  
  
"Everyone thinks I'm strong... have always thought I was strong... but I'm   
not."  
  
"You are," he said firmly, "but you're not invincible, Buffy."  
  
"Spike said I thought I was invincible," she told him, and I saw his flinch,   
and I knew there was something up, there. "He was wrong. I've been waiting   
to die for so long, and I hadn't even realised it yet." He rested his head   
against her shoulder again, and she must have felt his tears, because she   
spoke in a sad, regretful voice. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I love you," he murmured to her, and I could barely hear his voice. "I   
don't want you to be in this much pain."  
  
This was a side of Angel I hadn't seen in a while... serious, and brooding,   
and not smiling and goofy and joking everything away... this was a side that   
was real, and honest, and raw. This was a side he'd started to hide from the   
world, from us, when he found out that we were afraid of it.  
  
Apparently, he didn't have anything to hide from her, any more.  
  
"I just wanted to rest," she said. "Everything was so fucked up... there was   
nothing left to hope for."  
  
He shook, and his arms slid all the way around her, over hers, clasped   
around her knees. The wounds covering her back must have stung, but she   
didn't even flinch, just turned her face to bury it in his neck.  
  
"I'm so sorry, Buffy," he whispered, again and again, and again, his fingers   
sliding around hers, rocking her a little.  
  
"How did I get here?" she asked him brokenly, even though she had no   
answers. "Why did they do this to me? Why do I do it to myself?"  
  
"I don't know, love."  
  
"They're mean."  
  
I realised she was talking about the powers, and felt rather inclined to   
agree, having seen in full technicolour smell-o-vision all the pain in the   
world.  
  
"Spike looks as bad as I do, you know," she told Angel, then laughed, with   
no joy. "I fucked him like an animal."  
  
Angel flinched, his lips pressing into a hard line.  
  
"I hurt him, too," she tells him, "and I liked it."  
  
God, never thought I'd hear *that* coming out of Buffy's mouth. Spike!   
SPIKE!  
  
I wondered if she knew that Angel was sleeping with me.  
  
"I've felt it inside me," she said, "more and more. I don't want to be Buffy   
any more... sometimes, there's just the hunter."  
  
"That's okay," he said, "It's a part of you."  
  
That's something I know Angel understands.  
  
"I don't want to be someone who gets off on hurting other... people."  
  
"Spike's not a person," Angel replied, probably a little more harshly than   
he intended.  
  
"And, what, that makes it better?" she said incredulously. "I'm fucking a   
filthy, soulless, *demon*! I may as well have the blood of his victims on my   
hands."  
  
"Don't say that," he begged, "Buffy... I know you don't feel it, but you're   
still just as innocent as you always were." He pulled back, and drew her   
around to face him. His hand slid down to her heart, and he murmured,   
"You're the same, in here. You're just looking for a way home."  
  
I saw her eyes for the first time, saw the bruising and dark circles under   
them, and around her mouth, on her neck. "You're wrong. I don't even know   
where home is, any more."  
  
He kissed her, then, and I couldn't help the hot jealousy that flared up in   
my gut.  
  
When he pulled away, her hand came up to rest on his cheek, and she pressed   
their foreheads close. "Or, I know where it is, but I'm not allowed to go   
there, any more."  
  
"One day," he murmured wistfully.  
  
"I can't live for some day, any more." Buffy's voice was thick with tears.   
"I need something to live for, now."  
  
He kissed her cheeks, her eyelids, her brow, and said, "Live because your   
friends need you to. Live because *I* need you to..." his eyes didn't meet   
hers, "I know it's selfish of me..."  
  
"You're sleeping with Cordelia," she reminded him, and I shrank back a   
little guiltily. "You don't need me any more."  
  
"I always need you," he promised her, "I always miss you, and I *always*   
love you... Cordelia..."  
  
I waited, holding my breath, waiting for him to say I was just an easy lay,   
something to keep him warm on cold nights.  
  
"Cordy is my best friend," he said simply. "I'll love her forever, because   
of that simple fact alone..."  
  
My heart fluttered with affection for him, even as I realised that his love   
for me... and mine for him, was far from passionate, far from the desperate   
need that draws these two together at every crossroad... and eventually,   
forces them apart.  
  
"...But my heart... my soul, Buffy, they belong to you. They've *always*   
belonged to you. You're more important in my life than *anyone*."  
  
"Let's go away for a few days," she said suddenly, "Please? Just you and me,   
and Connor..." He hesitated, and he didn't give in til her bottom lip   
trembled, and she said, "I need a break... I need to remember how to live my   
life... but I'm scared to do it alone."  
  
"You're never alone," he promised her... "Remember? Whatever happens..."  
  
"You'll always be with me."  
  
I left, then, understanding, but still hurting, and went home, where Phantom   
Dennis drew me a bath.  
  
When Angel broke things off with us the next day, I pretended to be   
surprised. I hugged him, and I told him that he was my best friend, and that   
I would *always* love him.  
  
After all, sometimes, a girl's gotta die with dignity. 


End file.
